An Original Warhol

An Original Warhol

Some times the excitement I hardly can contain.

A bloke I once met, I guess back in the 1980’s. Some lawyer somewhere, in the process of being the protector, guardian and millionaire became official lawyer of Andy Warhol’s estate and managed to set the price after the artists departure of Andy’s art work.

However, for many years I had been quietly protecting my own investment in the Warhol myth.

In the early 1980’s I sought to find the roots of Mr.Warhol’s success as an artist, media celebrity and untouchable. Many was the night when Andy would appear at the same watering holes (although I watered and he did not.) However, my good friend Neil Travis was a pioneer in tabloid gossip columnist expertise  (he started PAGE SIX at the NY Post) and with the attractive need for friendship given his status within the city’s media elite he caught Andy’s ever alert eye.

Seeing how Travis was ‘doin good’ I stuck alongside since it looked like a ‘bit of a lark.’ Travis never let me down. The nights in Elaine’s, when he would lecture billionaires about how they were going wrong (Trump, being one of them) and neither he nor I had a “pot to piss-in” are too many (and delicate) to mention.

I would accept assignments from anyone who had the money and would pay quickly. One of which is the long departed UK magazine YOU. Please, they asked (that’s how I would be addresed in those days since I had no competition) would I mind to travel to Pittsburgh and meet Mr. Paul Warhola brother of Andy Warhol and create a photographic story of him, which I was happy to do .

Mr. Warhola was a genuinely nice affable man and a bit of an artist himself. From the fragments of my memory we enjoyed a laugh and a shout at his small farm, or something not far from Pittsburgh. At one point he excused himself from out banter and disappeared for about twenty minutes and returned with a canvas showing a Heinz Ketchup bottle. A bit of a piss-take, I guess. Rolled-up he handed it to me and laughingly said, “that’s for you Mickey, who knows, maybe it might be worth a fortune some day?”

I traveled throughout the United States photographing many of it’s wonderful citizens from 1973 until 2008 when my missus took me, kicking and screaming and crying my eyes to her homeland of Costa Rica. The likes of Paul Warhola and hundreds of others made my life so full of wonderful memories. 

Trump wouldn’t know anything of the decency of America.

 

 

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